Reality

I crawl around your brain, connecting wires to your unsuspecting

self without regard for who you are or what you want.

I’m a croissant, i’m a black eye, a refugee about to die.

Don’t pity me, ‘cause I won’t cry for you when your time

comes to feel my fury. Loser.

I’m reality. You’re my empathy.

You won’t fuck around with my life.

I’m reality. You’re my empathy.

You won’t fuck around with my life.

I’m reality. You’re my empathy.

You won’t fuck around with my life.

I stab you in the heart with a kitchen knife

I’m the girl who didn’t sympathize with your enthusiastic

application for a job you didn’t want, but had to get

because your bank had sent you seven letters, all demanding

Explanations, declarations, demonstrations of your will to nourish

customer relations. Loser.

I’m reality. You’re my empathy.

You won’t fuck around with my life.

…

I stab you in the heart with a kitchen knife

I have nothing in my pockets but misery

Existential misgivings elude me

Behold my name is truth, fact, certainty, validity,

Verisimilitude, you blow me every time, every catastrophe

I rip the world to shreds while you sweat over who will keep the kids, the house, the pet

After divorce come times of great regret

But as a bomb goes off in Timbuktu

How can you think your god abandoned you

I fuck you hard, I fuck you good, you’re getting numb,

I think you should adjust your attitude,

we’re all up shit creek, without paddles, clues

or strategies to help us find our way to

cure us of the blues. You Lose.